A few seconds of silence
by Aquanova dragon
Summary: A fic where we see the nations at their best and worst times in history. AKA - where I'm putting all my hetalia oneshots...WARNING: fluff, suicidal themes, possible pairings, just be prepared for anything. Including tears. Maybe.
1. September 11 2001

**A/N**: Heloooooooooooo people! Here's where I'm putting up alllllllllll my oneshots. Again, be prepared for anything. Ok I'm done now- wait no I'm not. TT I don't own hetalia, for the sake of the world's sanity.

America

9/11 (ohyesidid)

America always had the tallest apartment, with a balcony. There was a good reason for this: he liked to feel close to the sky, to feel like he was flying, the true form of freedom. Today, September 11th, 2001, however, it served a different purpose.

America could only sit, frozen in total horror, his eyes locked on the screen that showed the terrors happening as he watched. His people were dying, and the supposed hero could do nothing to stop it.  
And that's when the screams began.

England slowly reached forwards and flicked the TV set off. _Oh my god.._. His thoughts immediately turned to his former charge, America. _The lad hasn't been through something like this, with so many dead... He's probably traumatised. _His mind drifted back to The great fire of London, how he'd bled and hurt everywhere, how he'd been feverish for days, and how the worst of it was the sounds of his people crying out in pain, fear, horror, grief, all the emotions filling him until he'd wanted to die. _America is such a young, immature nation...how is he handling it? _England frowned, trying to banish the awful images he'd seen out of his mind. _He's probably fine. _Stretching his legs out, he wiped a hand over his face and sighed, making his way to the kitchen for more tea. _He's probably fine...probably... _Slapping his forehead and grabbing his car keys, England drove to the nearest airport. _I'll just check on the git, just to see that everything's fine. And then I'll feel ridiculous. That's what you bloody well get England for worrying about someone; you end up a fool._

England quickly found the spare key stashed under the door mat, having been at the apartment a few times before. A sense of uneasiness took hold, and he frowned. _I'm sure everything's just fine_, he thought anxiously, painfully aware that he was now only telling himself that. _Everything's perfectly fine_. He turned the key in the door as it just clicked open, and he shouldered through, finding that it seemed to be blocked from the other side. _That's odd... _He thought, giving the door a final shove before he stumbled into a pitch black room. _What the...America doesn't like the dark, why are all the lights off?_ England began to take a step forward, but froze at the cracking sound beneath his feet. _What is going on?_ He bent down, brushing his fingers across the floor before jerking away, muttering a curse. _That's broken glass..._ Becoming more and more confused and worried, he worked a hand up the wall, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the light switch, and flicked it on. And instantly wished he hadn't.

The place was a wreck. Broken glass was strewn everywhere amongst overturned tables and chairs, bullet shells littered the floor, knocking against shards of porcelain. But what held the horror struck nation for a second more were the bloodstains covering the carpet and walls. England released a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding. "Bloody hell..." He muttered, delicately picking his way across the room. _He obviously didn't handle it well._ His mind returned to the pools of blood, and he shook his head. _There must be so many dead for that much...he must hurt so much_, he thought, thinking of his former colony. Apprehension and dread began to gnaw at the personification's insides as he checked every wrecked, bloodstained room to find nothing. "America?" He called out, mentally cursing at how his voice gave away how scared he was. Eventually, he came up to the balcony, where billowing crimson curtains shielded the area from the rest of the apartment. England shuddered, remembering that those curtains were normally white, his dread building more quickly. Steeling himself, he pulled away the curtains. The image that greeted him made his heart leap into his throat, pure adrenaline and shock coursing through his veins at the sight of the younger nation sitting, so casually, illuminated by the city lights, on the balcony railing. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, and violent sobs shook his body like a lone leaf in a storm. "A-America? Come down from there, now-"  
"You know, Iggy," the voice speaking sent shivers down the Briton's spine, so unlike the happy one he knew; it was raspy and choking, like someone was drawing nails down a chalkboard. "You said being a nation would be difficult, that it would hurt and bleed when they died, but you didn't say anything about the screams." Here, the shuddering form turned to face England, who stepped back in shock, his eyes fixed on the dull blue glistening ones, tears mingling with blood that leaked from his mouth and ears. "Why didn't you tell me about the screams?" America whisper-screamed.

"America, I want you to come down from there, down here, and we'll talk, alright?" The other nation didn't move. "I've already decided England. You can't stop me now." The British nation stepped forward, panic rising like bile in his throat. _I have to get him down from there! _"Jumping won't do anything America! You'll only regenerate!" He growled, trying to instil some sense into the situation. "Do you hear me? You'll come back-"  
"It doesn't matter!" America screamed. "I'm supposed to be the hero, I'm supposed to help, and all I can hear is them crying because I can't! At least this way, I'll have a few seconds of silence! Just... Just a few seconds..." The two nations stood stock still, neither making a move until America began to shuffle towards the edge, making England's breath catch. "America, don't you dare!"  
"Why? Why shouldn't I? Why do you care?" The words brought England up short. Why did he care? When his mind eventually turned the answer up, he was shocked for a moment. After everything, I still think that? The pieces, however, clicked into place, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. "Because you're still my little brother." America froze, and for a moment, all that was heard was haggard breathing and dripping blood. "What did you say?"  
"I said that you're still my little brother. And that's why I care, and that's why I want you to come down from there." England fixed his eyes on his former colony's back, and so was ready to catch him when he fell backwards onto the floor, scrambling away from the edge and whimpering in shock, burying himself in his brother's arms. "I was gonna- I was gonna-" England patted his back, pulling him closer on the floor. "It hurts so bad, all of them- I felt every single one-" the cries degenerated into meaningless sobs as he was gently shushed. "Hush, I know it hurts now, but it'll stop..."  
"I didn't do anything! Why didn't I-"  
"Hush America, what could you have done? Now relax, deep breaths..." Cold rain began to fall, washing away the blood and tears, just as America's brother had washed away his pain. "Hey, Iggy?" He sniffles into said nation's shoulder.  
"What is it?" It was a mark of the moment's meaningfulness that America was not reprimanded for using the nickname. "I'm not your little brother dude, I'm taller than you." England chuckled in relief and only held his brother tighter.

And from that moment, even thought they fought at meetings, and annoyed the heck out of each other, America knew that when he fell down, his brother was in the shadows, ready to pick up the pieces.  
And he would do the same for him.

**A/N**: Fluffiness...*floats away on a cloud* AND THAT IS WHY I DO NOT SHIP USUK. *runs from fangirls* they're still brothers...meh. since I have to type secretly, as I'm not allowed to be on electronics as much as I'd like to, chapters will come up randomly. Like they do with all of my fics...


	2. Silver seams

**A/N: ANOTHER CHAPPIE! This is just something I came up with at midnight, waiting for the party to stop downstairs so I can go to sleeeeeeeep...rawr...hah, um... This might count as spamano depending on you interpret it...either way, WARNING: maybe fluff XD **

Romano groaned, picking his way in the pouring rain through the luscious tomato fields that stretched for acres from Spain's house. "Where the fuck is that tomato bastard? That idiota is going to catch cold! N-not that I care though!" He muttered quickly under his breath. Eventually, he reached the fifth, and most outer field. Plants were scattered here and there, as if they had grown by accident. _That bastard better be fucking sorry when I find him... _Growing sick of the rain, Romano swung an umbrella up and over his head, so the gentle pattering became a full battering ram of a sound, and moved onwards, stepping around muddy puddles. Eventually, he caught sight of a figure crouching by a small plant, and sighing, made his way towards them. "Hey! Bastardo! What the hell are you doing?" Spain gave no sign he had heard, so Romano was forced to approach, where he saw what the spaniard was doing. Singing. Playing the guitar and singing quietly in his native tongue under his breath, hands gliding only over the strings and not to wipe away the shimmering raindrops that fell into his concentrated eyes. "Hey! Idiota! Listen to me, godammit!" Still, the Spanish nation made no move. Romano snorted. "Get sick then. See if I care." He turned as if to walk away, but stopped. He was still singing. His head turned slightly to pick up the Spanish, which he had, without wanting to, become fluent in.

_Improvvisa, mi baci,_

_tremando ti agiti un po.._

_e in un attimo poi,_

_siamo soli e adesso_

_lentamente, secretamente_

_caminando en tu piel_

_toma fuerte ahora mis manos_

_quero amarte_

_suavemente ,profundamente_

_repirando de tu piel_

_llueve suave esta noche_

_ahora amame..._

Unknowingly, Romano had turned around in surprise. _The hell? There's Italian in there! And Spanish too... _The song was a perfect blend of the two languages, intertwining and answering each other, like a dance. Slowly, the Italian moved closer so the umbrella covered both of them.

**(^^) timeskip~**

"Achoo!"

"Damn it bastard, i knew you'd get ill! Idiota..." Romano shook his head as Spain woke up with a sneeze and a cold. "Hehe...Lo siento Roma, pero tuve que-" he was cut off abruptly by Romano covering his mouth with a hand. "English or Italian, idiota! And don't fucking call me Roma, godammit!" Spain laughed weakly, sniffing.

"Sorry, Roma, but I had to go out there, since I do it every day or so and-"

"Fucking idiota, I didn't ask! Dio mio... Just go the hell to sleep so I don't have to deal with your shit anymore..." Romano groaned, standing from his perch at the foot of where the spaniard was resting and slamming the door behind him. _Get better, bastardo... _Romano blinked. _Where the fuck did that come from? It's not l-like I actually care or anything, damn it!_ He crossed over from the doorway to the kitchen, before pausing in front of the wooden guitar Spain had been playing.

A door slammed as Romano strode out the door, his fingers wrapped around the neck of the guitar.

Romano took a deep breath, and crouched before the plant he'd found Spain at yesterday._ This is so fucking stupid... Why the hell am I doing this? _Nevertheless, he rested the guitar on one knee, his fingers and voice brushing over the notes uncertainly, brokenly.

_Improvvisa, mi baci,_

_tremando ti agiti un po.._

_e in un attimo poi,_

_siamo soli e adesso_

_lentamente, secretamente_

_caminando en tu piel_

_toma fuerte ahora mis manos_

_quero amarte_

_suavemente ,profundamente_

_repirando de tu piel_

_llueve suave esta noche_

_ahora amame... _

A few words and notes were stumbled over, but the tune eventually made its way into the damp air, until the guitar was put down on the ground with a sigh. "Why the hell are either of us doing this?" Romano demanded out loud, brushing his fingers over the soil of the plant, and withdrawing quickly. Just as quick, his fingers probed at the soil, once again finding a small foreign object, which he picked up with two fingers. His eyes widened in shock. _No. Fucking. Way._

_Flashback_

_"Hey, Spain! Bastard! I found something!" Spain looked up to see his little charge running at him. "Que? What is it?" Romano smirked at his caretaker as he bent down, and handed him a small grey rock. "It's a boring old rock! It reminded me of you, since you're so boring!" The child cackled at his own joke. Spain chuckled as well as he turned the rock over in his hands. "Ha, but Roma~ this stone has a vein of silver in it..." He turned the stone so the crack of shining silver was easily visible, and watched as Romano's eyes turned to saucers. "C-Cosa!? Give it back, damn bastard!" Spain stood up straight, pulling the stone out of the child's grasp. "Lo siento Roma~ but finders-keepers!" He smiled brightly, some of his conquistador attitude returning. _

_"Y-you bastard!" Romano's face was scrunched up, and bright red in anger. _

_"Oye, Roma, your face looks like a-_

"Bastard..." Romano whispered, turning the rock over in his hands as he spotted the silver seam._ Why the heck had he kept it? And more importantly, WHY THE HELL DO I FEEL LIKE CRYING?! _Romano snorted, standing and furiously wiping his eyes with his blue hoodie sleeve. He roughly grabbed the guitar and began to make his way back to the house. But not before he'd buried the stone back where he found it.

"Oye, good morning Roma-"

"You're better now? Bueno."

"Que?... Sí... But you think that's.. Bueno?"

"B-bastard! Of course not! It's just that now I don't have to fucking take care of you and..."


	3. A matter of when, rather than if

**HI PEOPLE! Yeeeaaaah, long time no see. Sorry about that. Also, I have NOT given up on "a fallen star", I just haven't set myself deadlines since...well...I suck, so if you're nice enough to be reading that, another chappie will come. Eventually. Eh... Anyway this pretty short One shot is focused on the UK bros, namely the poll about if Scotland would leave the UK. Also, I didn't actually watch the voting, so if details are wrong, forgive me, they're not the main interest of the story. So, I don't own hetalia, yadayadayada, here's the story. **

The air was thick with tension, heavy like a polluted fog humming through the room. Four young men sat hunched on a sofa, two of them particularly leaning towards the television in front of them displaying the House of Commons, where the votes of hundreds of thousands of people were being counted up. The two middle brothers were uncomfortably wedged between the silently hoping eldest and youngest, although hoping for completely different things.

England dragged a hand over his face, massaging his temples and pinching his fore bridge. _I cannot believe he actually went and did it. I thought he was just...joking around._ An uncomfortable feeling clenched his heart in an iron grip, wrenching it around as he imagined the consequences of today's vote. _He'd leave..._

**Flashback**

_Young England lay down in the tall grass, half his body still in the water as he bent double, coughing up the little water still left in his painful lungs. His ears echoed with bubbles, and his underwater screams as his brothers laughed from above the surface. "England. Rabbit boy." England's eyes slowly cracked open to reveal a red haired form standing over him, and he scrambled back in shock and fear. "Back for more, Scotland?" The young nation spat out, hauling himself to his feet. "I can take anything you've got! Come on! Are you scared?" The red haired nation stared a while._

_"Sit down lad. You nearly drowned back there." The younger child laughed unconvincingly._

_"Me? Drowning? No way! I was fine, you git! I-" England was suddenly cut off by strong arms wrapping around him. "What the bloody hell-" _

_"I thought we might've gone too far lad. I thought we lost ye there..." A thick voice muttered into England's shoulder as he stiffened. "W-what do you care? You're the one who-" _

_"We're just havin' fun, playing around...we don't ever mean you nae harm..." England squirmed._

_"Mean me no harm? As if! B-but I never got harmed anyway!" _

_"Don't ye get it? I thought I had just killed my little brother! I thought ye had died!" Both nations breathed into empty silence. "If we're brothers, why are you n-never there?" The child's voice cracked at this. "I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry..." That was enough to make England crack, tears finally welling over as he cried into his sibling's shirt at the relieved realisation that he wasn't alone anymore. "I-it's ok..." Scotland pulled away after a moment. _

_"I-I got something for ye..." England looked up hopefully, eyes widening in excitement. _

_"For me? Let's see!" Scotland chuckled at the younger nation's enthusiasm, and pulled a toy out of his leather satchel. "Here." England took the soft thing in his arms, holding it gently. _

_"A rabbit...I am a little old for toys, but I'll keep it. Not because of you, mind you! Because it must've taken a while to make!" At this point England had gone quite red, and went even more when Scotland stood up and ruffled the child's hair. "Now get out of here, squirt." England batted his older brother's hands away. "Hey! I'm not a squirt!" Scotland shook his head, snorting, and began to walk away. "H-hey! Wait!' He stopped and turned, taking in the image of his younger brother: soaked through, shivering, green cape trailing on the ground and suddenly clutching the pale rabbit as if it was his last lifeline. "What is it?" He asked of the younger nation. _

_"I...I want you to promise me you won't disappear!" Scotland's face grew somewhat more serious, as he walked back to his sibling. "Ok, listen up. I promise, that I won't disappear." The younger nation still wasn't satisfied. "Pinkie swear!" He said forcefully, brandishing his hand in front of Scotland's face, who chuckled. "Pinkie swear..."_

England snapped out of his reverie as a black suited man walked up to the podium, handing a thin envelope to another man standing there. Agonisingly slowly, the envelope switched hands. _Our entire family, hanging onto a small piece of paper. This... _All the nations present shifted closer to the screen, leaning forwards on their elbows, the silence and tension becoming agonising. _This...is it. _The seal cracked as the letter slipped open and into the man's hand. "And the results of this Poll are..." The tension at this point was near unbearable in the thick atmosphere. "Scotland will not leave the United Kingdom." Applause was heard as the nations fell back into the sofa, England drawing a shaking hand over his face. _He's...not leaving..?_ Scotland stood abruptly, snatching his coat off the sofa forcefully and beginning to stride to the door, until a hand grabbed his azure sleeve. "What-" his words were suddenly cut off by his younger sibling hugging him tightly.

"Oi! What do ye think you're-"

"I thought you said you'd never disappear..." And with that, England vanished up the stairs, and crashed into his room, breathing heavily, his face red. "D-dammit..." He grumbled to himself, settling down on the side of the bed and picking up a small fluffy lump, holding it gently in his lap. Sure, it was a little dirty, and an ear was missing...but it was still _the rabbit_. England sighed, rolling onto his back. _He's not going to go. He's not leaving. _

No matter what he said, no matter how often he said he was fine in "splendid isolation", he wasn't. He'd been left over and over again, America, his colonies, and his brother would've been the last straw. Every time it came to a time like this, it was only a matter of luck that he wasn't alone. And he knew that only too well.

_I suppose it's a matter of "when", rather than "if"..._


	4. Human Contact

**A/N: I AM SO SORRY *cries* the next one will be fluffy, I promise. By the waaaay. This one is really feely. Just warning you lovely people now (^v^") OH ALSO: if ya wanna request something, I might be able to get around to it, but I have a busy schedule so no promises XD**

**DIS-CLAI-MER**

**I don't own hetalia, which is probably a good thing.**

Japan had always been a private person. He preferred to stay at home, rather than with the company of others. However, he hadn't always been against contact. In fact, he used to love giving and receiving hugs, from his allies, like Italy, and especially America. But...that all changed.

It was a calm day in Japan. A thin wind picked up the personification's crimson cape and ruffled it. It was World War Two. The allies were winning against the axis powers; they were crumbling to the ground. Italy had switched sides, much to his friends' dismay, and Germany had surrendered shortly afterwards. But Japan would stand tall. They would not back down, they would show the allies that they could not agree to their demands of surrender, and they would show the world how powerful they were.

America slammed his hands on the desk in front of him, making many of the officials jump. "You can't do this! There are innocent people there! They've never done anything wrong!" His voice was strained, almost breaking in panic. A military official, from the air forces, shook his head. "They refuse to accept our terms for surrender, and by that they continue this war. The losses have been great, sir. Surely you cannot wish for this to continue?" The personification slowly sat, trembling.

"There's...gotta be another way..." Just then, a few troops marched into the meeting, and one ran up, glancing at America for a moment and then saluting his commander. "The bombs are ready and strapped in. Are we go for launch?" The commanding officer nodded curtly, signalling for the rest of the officials to leave the room, leaving the nation alone. His head dropped into his hands. "Anything...anything but this..." His head whipped up at the sound of clacking heels down the corridor, meeting the eyes of the commander in charge. "If you would like to come with us sir, there is a spare seat..." His voice trailed off as the personification pulled himself to his full height and rushed past him.

America gritted his teeth and opened the latch, allowing millions of small leaflets in Japanese to sprinkle over the ground from the skies, warning the millions of innocent people below of the coming disaster. _Please, please let them run.. _"Sir?" America turned to see one of the commanding officers standing behind him. "What's up." At his blank look America rolled his eyes and restated his question: "What is it?" The general stood straight and saluted the nation before delivering his message. "Sir, the bombs are in place. We request you move back to the offloading bay so the pilots may access the cockpit." America gazed out through the glass to the bustling cities below. _So many innocent people...I'm the hero! I can't let them do this! _He stood up quickly, glaring darkly at the general, who used all his mental strength not to flinch under the gaze of his personification. "Abort. Abort the mission!"

"Sir-"

"I SAID ABORT!"

"America!" Said nation turned to see another, higher ranking general standing with what looked like regret in his eyes, surrounded by a few soldiers dressed in black. "We...can't allow you to jeopardise this mission." America stepped back in shock, his eyes widening as the surrounding soldiers raised their weapons. "Don't you dare-!" His voice was cut off short by the hail of small darts that found their way into his body, as well as the floor which suddenly rushed up to meet him. He lashed out, trying to throw off the soldiers holding him down before his strength waned under his darkening vision and his limbs went limp. A few tears managed to escape his eyes and he would have wiped them away if he could, not wanting his people to see him so weak before everything faded to black.

Japan was not in a meeting, for once. Being the last opposing nation in the Second World War had almost removed that luxury, but today, he could stand by a pool of clear water, small Sakura blossoms drifting into it and dancing on the surface. Even in this turbulent time, when his entire form seemed alive with movement, a small part of himself and his country could find peace, no matter how small. However, that peace was suddenly shattered by a small piece of paper drifting down into the pool. Japan uttered a small noise of surprise as he gently bent down and picked the paper out of the water._ These are Japanese characters... Who could have dropped this?_ As he read the leaflet over, his eyes widened in shock as his heart leapt into his throat for a moment. _No... _Without another thought pounding in his mind he spun to face Hiroshima, but it was already too late. The nation collapsed to his knees as everything went white.

Pain. That was all he could feel. For a whole week he could not move from his spot, only shuddering every few moments in a particularly bad wave of agony as the second bomb was detonated._ W-why..._ It was his first comprehensible thought for days. _Why didn't we...surrender...why did he...why would America go this far... _The nation slowly, agonisingly slowly uncurled and pulled himself to his feet, numbly noting the blood dried on his clothes. He could see on his own body the damage, but he had to see it himself. With that in mind, the personification began to move towards the wasteland which was Hiroshima. He wandered painfully through streets and alleys, stopping a few times to cough up blood as black as tar. Japan could feel the radiation seeping through him and poisoning his very being, and yet he kept moving. He had to see the results of his arrogance, the price his people had to pay for their government's stubbornness. Eventually, he came across the ghost of a town square. It was as silent as the death that had swept through it. Upon taking a few steps, he stopped at a foreign object touching his dirty sandals._ What is...?_ The nation bent down and cupped the object in his hands. It was a doll. Her face was cracked and her dress was torn, and yet she was still smiling. _How...how can a doll, after all this horror, still be smiling?!_ Japan let the porcelain doll fall from his hands as he collapsed to his knees, sobbing openly into his hands.

America awoke into darkness, setting his already pounding heart racing. _Not the dark not the dark! _When he was a young colony, he would always creep into his brother's bed once the lamp next to the door went out, but now, he was alone. He lifted his arms up groggily and found they weren't bound, as he had expected. _What...happened?_ Dark and distorted images came to mind of his soldiers knocking him out, his general standing over him with a cold gaze as his nation's arms were bound. Said nation now rolled off the bench he was on, beginning making out blurry shapes in the darkness. "Hey!" He managed to call out, his voice cracking. "Anybody there?" There was a sound of scuffling outside the room he was in before painfully white light streamed into the room, and America brought up an arm to shield his eyes. "Sir?" A female voice echoed into the room, and a gentle hand pulled his arm away, setting the nation's glasses on his nose. America stood up, now seeing he wasn't injured, and made his way for the door. The nurse, as that's what he assumed she was, made no effort to stop him. "I'm..so sorry you had to go through that..." Her voice behind him stopped his steps for a moment, in the knowledge that she was probably breaking every protocol in saying it, before starting again, his head held high. _I've got to get to Japan... What day is it?! Did they already drop the second one on Nagasaki?! _He crashed blindly through door after door until he finally stumbled into a room full of the military generals in charge of the operation. The room fell silent. "Sir-" America walked purposefully towards the head general, picked him up by his collar and pinned him against the wall, eyes brimming with rage. "One question, one simple answer. Got it dude?" The commander nodded quickly. "What. Day. Is. It." America snarled.

"August the twelfth.." America paused for a moment before dropping the man. _It's been three days since the second bombing... DAMMIT! How could I let this happen, I'm supposed to stop this kind of thing, not do it myself! _The nation spun around to exit the room, before pausing outside the door. "I have a little present for you guys." With that, he walked back, flipped the table, sending all manners of documents into the air, and then walked out without another word. He allowed a small, tight smirk to pass his face. _Fuck yeah. _

Hours later, America hopped out of a helicopter and landed on the poisoned ground of Hiroshima. He didn't take a gas mask, as he began to take a few heavy steps out into the shattered air. _Oh god...what...did I do?_ The nation's eyes scanned the ruined landscape, searching for a sign that he hadn't completely messed up. Nothing. The United States of America had messed up. Big time. He wondered through wasted streets, torn banners rippling in the poisoned air. It was as if a giant had flattened the land, and then set it on fire. Eventually, he came to what must have been a town square. America felt something ghost against his foot and jerked away in horror upon looking down. It was a hand. A stone hard, human hand, reaching out desperately. The nation bent over and retched. _It's...all my fault. There's innocent blood on my entire country's hands!_ Straightening up again after some time, he spotted a tiny spot of colour amongst all the grey. Upon recognising the form, he started towards him, coming to halt just before he reached him. "Japan...? Dude?" The Japanese nation froze at the sound of America's voice, before hauling himself to his feet. His eyes were empty and dull, like the landscape around him. "Dude..." America's voice broke as he hugged the smaller nation. "I'm so, so sorry... They knocked me out, I tried to stop them, but I got gunned down..." He awaited a response. Japan had gone stiff at America's touch, and once he had finished speaking, he pushed him away firmly. America stepped back in shock. "Japan...?"

"...Please don't touch me, America-San." America shook his head slowly, falling to his knees.

"I'm so sorry..." His apologies were stolen by the poisoned wind.

In the smoke and dust, it was difficult to see which nation was more broken.


End file.
